


Handyman, Chapter 2 ~Breakfast AtSushi’s~

by Sakurthigh



Category: BUCK-TICK
Genre: Crying, Dark Comedy, Food Kink, J-ROCK Band, Masturbation, Nantaimori (eating sushi off a naked man), Other, Possession, Visual Kei
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23398564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakurthigh/pseuds/Sakurthigh
Summary: Possession is 9/10ths of the law... especially when you’re possessed by a lyric composing muse who’s a kitsune- a trickster fox spirit that exacts payment through pleasure... at the most awkward moments.
Relationships: Atsushi Sakurai/his hand
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Handyman, Chapter 2 ~Breakfast AtSushi’s~

**Author's Note:**

> This second chapter of a novel fic was originally written and published by myself to LiveJournal on December 19, 2012, and has been imported to Archive of Our Own to preserve it.
> 
> Original dedication:
> 
> •••For Beatriz, whose comments in a conversation long ago helped me realize how much this had to be written... or cursed me with it. Not sure, the jury’s still out on that account.•••
> 
> This was an entry in a fic community’s kink challenge, that had a list of kinks that you had to work from. It was particularly difficult, because the list was on the harsh or grotesque side, but I wanted to explore it while retaining the fresh youthful feel of BUCK-TICK in their early career.
> 
> I never completed the challenge, but the few chapters I did complete were fun and still worth sharing.
> 
> The second prompt I chose was irresistible: Nantaimori, the practice of using a naked man’s body as a sushi serving display. Who wouldn’t want to savor Atsushi sushi? 
> 
> The story progresses a bit darker in this second chapter, as he begins to realize that his “hand with a mind of its own” problem is not only not going away, it’s getting more invasive, and he doesn’t know what is happening to him yet.

A leaf from a cherry tree was pressed into the palm of his left hand, and a cake of wasabi paste that was carefully sculpted into a cherry blossom was placed upon it. His right hand already had a cluster of leaves with a mound of pickled ginger. He was really doing this. At least he was able to wear a Speedo- that was something. Sakurai sniffed, then peeked at the chef through his lashes and quickly snapped up the gunkanmaki roll that had been balanced on his shoulder. His mouth was full and he was wolfing it down as quick as he could when the chef turned back to him with his tray of nigirizushi.

“Hey! Stop that! That’s for the guests!” the chef feigned being upset with the up and coming rock star, but was laughing on the inside. The young man’s hair was dressed so ornately into a stiff, shiny comb over his head that it looped into a curl in the front that would put to shame any of his garnishing skills. It crunched uncomfortably as he dropped his head back on the serving table a bit too hard, and he licked the stray roe from his bottom lip and sighed.

“I’m sorry- I’m nervous,” he protested with his mouth full, and he heard Hide trying not to laugh off to his side, but he wasn’t able to turn towards him. Why did they have to do this, anyway? Yeah, he knew their excuse for it- they’d just finished touring for their first non-indie album, “Sexual XXXXX!”, and they were new. “It’s good PR,” so he’d been told, though likely no one outside the guest list would ever hear about it. They may have a good contract signed, but the label still owned them down to their toenails. Being made into a human serving tray for their employees seems to have come with the turf.

The head chef of the label’s catering staff questioned being lowered to creating a nantaimori party out of one of the artists under their contract, but was quite taken with him when the band came in for preparatory training, and now Sakurai was presented as a living work of art on the table before him. He’d taken cue from the vocalist’s name, and created a spring time cherry tree motif of his hair and body that was taking shape according to the sketch he’d provided the makeup and grooming assistant working in tandem with the kitchen staff.

Real sakura petals, leaves, blossoms, and small twigs in bloom were being tacked into place with hair pins and spirit gum adhesive while he was rolling sheets of nori and rice. Peachy-pink blush had been dusted over the young man’s nose and cheeks, and his curved lips had a similar shade of lipstick- just enough to stain them without looking very painted. He was almost painfully lovely, and with luck, would never see the final result... the musician would likely go into a personal crisis like he was. He’d never get used to the current trend in the music scene- the men were becoming more attractive and done up than the women were. He turned back to his counter and continued to slice.

****************************************

“Nantaimori?” Sakurai didn’t like the sound of it, and knew something was up when their manager informed them of the event plans that came in from higher up. He knew it had to be something bad, because he was being treated to fresh hand made udon at a quiet restaurant for lunch instead of the usual proffered cheap ramen stand fare. The things bands had to put up with from the labels bordered on hazing, but trying to get a break and be successful was more than just getting signed like most from the outside think... that was only the beginning.

“Oh, it’s nothing- nothing. All you have to do is lay there, and everyone else will do the rest.” A burst of uneasiness came from his words, and refused to leave. “You won’t even have to be naked in front of the ladies- you’ll have a racing bikini on.” His hand tingled and tensed at their manager’s words. Not now, I’m sober. It’s just alcohol and the thrill of being on stage that brings that... impulse on. He mentally ordered it to be still.

****************************************

Apparently he’d gained some fans amongst the women that worked for their record label, and someone high enough within the company had given the green light for this strange dinner party after a promise was given if they reached a production quota or something. He chuckled for a moment, wishing that he could have been there to see the executive’s faces when they drew the suggestion paper for his... dinner entertainment... from the box. Next time, there would likely be more solid limits placed upon what would be acceptable as a reward and what was not- beyond just a cost ceiling, but this time they’d backed themselves into a corner. He wasn’t sure if he found it creepy or hot though, being reduced to human furniture for a night.

As the plans took shape, they decided on two band members to be human sushi trays- himself and Hidehiko for visual balance, Imai entertaining, and the rest of the band would be serving sake and doing general table bussing and waiter duties. They ribbed him for it over the next two weeks at every opportunity, too.

Toll handed Hide and him a bottle of beer, laughing. “This one’s on me!” he said in heavily accented English, with a huge grin. It was Friday night before the party, and he would be glad once it was over. He’d heard enough jokes about it to last a lifetime. He couldn’t stay up drinking late tonight though- he’d been warned of coming in smelling of processing alcohol in his system.

A car came for the two of them in the morning, to take them to a private spa. “Salt glow” skin treatments with a hint of lemon to help cut scents lingering on their skin were administered first, then they were shaved from the neck down, and finished off with a massage of unscented seaweed-enriched cream that brought their skin to a radiant, healthy sheen. He finally understood the value of wearing those Speedos as they were prepped for their duties of the evening: it wasn’t about concerns for their modesty, as much as a gift of allowing them the dignity to not have to be shaved everywhere, which was good... it felt strange to have his underarms shaved though.

****************************************

Dusk arrived, and they entered the traditionally furnished conference and entertaining room that was usually reserved for the executives and special guests visiting their label’s primary headquarters building. As they lay down- each facing the opposite direction, foot to head on two separate but parallel tables- he asked Hide, “Ready?”

“Does it matter?” Hide joked back, but it was the truth.

A ladies dressing gown kimono made of fine silk was carefully draped, pooling in shiny soft ripples on each of the tables. The one on his own table was black with a small peach blossom motif, and the one that Hide was led to was its reverse- soft blush peach with the black silhouette of peach branches in bloom across it. Their hair had already been carefully styled then glossed with the latest silicone hair shine, and their makeup was quickly applied while the table stylist got to work on the fresh flowers they were to be sparingly covered in.

Time was of the essence- at least they didn’t have to wait around for long. Less than 15 minutes before the guests would be in the room with them- everything had to be done last minute, to ensure that the sushi was absolutely fresh and cool still, and the flowers weren’t wilted. He was chastised for snatching a caviar topped roll at one point by the chef, but it was a tension-breaker; he and Hide had been surrounded by relative scurrying silence for most of the afternoon and it was almost funereal.

As the ladies were beginning to filter in, Imai sat across the room on the floor with his guitar, set with a synthesized shamisen filter, playing the first song of his set- “Empty Girl”. His formal Punk men’s kimono was unique: a bright pinkish-red top almost like a sumo wrestler would wear but accessorized with a shiny peach vinyl ruff collar, and his umanori hakama were patterned with that same red, black, white, and orange in a Punk Harlequin diamond print, and his makeup was skillfully applied like a porcelain Pierrot doll. Stunning... in his odd, Imai-ish fashion.

Everything was lit with traditional bright red flared Ikari warousoku candles scattered around the room on European Gothic black wrought iron floor stands of various heights, creating an intimate warm atmosphere. Though the evening was far from what the label originally thought they would be providing the ladies as their reward for hard work, they didn’t short-change them on a thing: style was everything, and it impeccably reflected the personality of the band that they had requested for the evening.

Why couldn’t they have just set the limits at having a private concert for them from the beginning? Sakurai sighed. You were the one that wanted a little excitement in the big city. Well, you’re here now, and it’s showtime. He closed his eyes, as had been suggested when they were trained last week. Though the ladies were employees, they were still fans- body guards and security were present as assistant wait staff just incase things got out of hand, and eye contact with the guests was discouraged.

Candle light filtered through his eyelids and he relaxed, letting himself go into his “zone” that he had started to find while on stage. Knowing that you’re being watched, and have an effect on people is fun, he’d discovered. He let his lips part just a little bit for effect, knowing that it would soon be noticed.

The scent of too many different perfumes all at once drifted through; giggling hushed gossip, and then movement... and sushi started to vanish. Damp, drying, tightening spots of vinegared starchiness were left behind from the rice that had just been there, warming up on the heat of his skin. Only chopsticks were allowed for serving to keep contact down, but if anything it intensified the tease of it- keeping them so close, yet forever at arm’s reach. Forbidding contact can often have its own unique pleasures.

He heard a gasp, and a sushi roll fell onto the table next to him. Ooh, someone’s finally noticed! A soft, knowing smile that couldn’t be fought back formed, and his arm was pelted with her dropped chopsticks, and then hurried apologies from her friend that hadn’t noticed the interaction- only the clattering sticks and the apparent mess that she’d made from the roll that had exploded all over the table. This evening could be interesting after all.

His sushi quickly vanished, and he could hear that Hide’s was following suit soon afterwords, and voices, giddy with generously flowing sake were becoming louder. Their celebration was a success. Only a couple of pieces of his sushi remained, no one wanting to be the one to take the last from the “tray”. There was movement nearby, and a click-click sound of one of the serving chopsticks being knocked to the floor. As the stick was being retrieved, he felt a warm slurred whisper on his ear. “You were my suggestion slip, in the drawing box.” Goose-bumps raised on his arms from the feel of her breath so close- if he’d not been shaved that morning, the hair would be standing on end.

Her face was close to his- he could sense it, and smell the sake that had made her bold. “You... you’ve gotten roe on your face... how did that happen?” Sakurai remembered his snatched gunkanmaki from earlier just as her warm tongue touched near the corner of his mouth, and he saw a brilliant flash of spring green light in front of him through his eyelids, and then another one echoing its sparkle to his left. A security man came over and escorted her away. “I’m terribly sorry m’am, contact isn’t allowed...” their voices trailed off, but the feel of her breath against his lips remained.

Someone with a fur coat rubbed up sensually against his left arm, and after a moment’s thought, he opened his eyes to look. No one would have a coat on in here... no one could even be on his left side- that’s where Hide’s table was. Sparks of rosy-pink and familiar pale green light hovered above the surface of his forearm, and no one was near his table at all. Fear pierced through his chest. I’m not drunk! I haven’t been drinking at all today, he thought ...but his fingers had started to caress the silk kimono he was resting upon with a mind of their own.

No, not now, no, no... this is impossible, it’s just how alcohol hits me when I’m out on stage. A partial memory of a desperate dash through Dōgenzaka haunted him, challenging the truth of his belief, but he didn’t have time to deal with it... he was in nothing but a Speedo. I have to get out of this room, and fast.

He started to panic, the was act up- his eyes were open, and he was scrambling to try to untangle himself from the twigs and table dressing... or at least, one of his hands was. His left hand was creeping a path towards his groin in a not so subtle way, and to his horror, under the pressure of being in the situation, it started to respond. Shit! SHIT!! NOT NOW!!! Tingling warmth began to flood his thighs, and he remembered the kimono, and grabbed it.

He was struggling to cover himself as fast as he could with one hand while the other fought his efforts, and one of the support staff that was assigned to keep things running smoothly stepped over and wrapped the dressing down over his shoulders and got him out of there as panic took over.

As soon as they were through the room’s staff-only entrance, he pulled away and broke into a run, tripping on the hem of the too-long kimono that was only draped around him, but he kept on running. His hand gripped around his cock, out of sight beneath the silk gown, but it was taking control, and it wouldn’t stop for anything. He knew that from experience while on tour. Tears of fear and humiliation welled up and threatened, and he slammed his dressing room door shut behind himself, then leaned against it and collapsed onto his knees on the floor.

The Speedo dug into his hips, not even pulled down, and his hand made forceful hard strokes along his length. Desire and disgust pounded through him like waves at high tide, and he could only watch as his hand clenched and released. He felt like a madman, but was swept into the lust it created and he rocked with it, gasping and moaning while the tears fell onto his cheeks; hating it, and not wanting it to stop for anything.

He could hear distantly the sound of feet in the hall, but couldn’t keep any more quiet than he was- he was burning up. The heat built... fire, waves of it. “Oh, oh, I’m going to come... haah oh, I’m coming...” Arching his back with a thrust of his hips, his voice raised to a shriek. “Oh, oh, oh, haaahhhhh! AAAHH!!” his head tipped back and he shivered, racking from the intensity of what hit him.

Panting and still trembling, he finally slumped against the wooden door, and his hand slapped wetly to the uninspired industrial tile floor. “Oh... haah, oh... oh fuck.” What the... what the h...hell?


End file.
